<!DOCTYPE html>
<html>
<head>
<meta charset="UTF-8">
<title>Always, and Always by librarybooks</title>
<style type="text/css">

body { background-color: #ffffff; }
.CI {
text-align:center;
margin-top:0px;
margin-bottom:0px;
padding:0px;
}
.center   {text-align: center;}
.cover    {text-align: center;}
.full     {width: 100%; }
.quarter  {width: 25%; }
.smcap    {font-variant: small-caps;}
.u        {text-decoration: underline;}
.bold     {font-weight: bold;}
</style>
</head>
<body>
<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/26222932">Always, and Always</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/librarybooks/pseuds/librarybooks'>librarybooks</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Fire Emblem: Fuukasetsugetsu | Fire Emblem: Three Houses</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Alternate Universe - Howl's Moving Castle Fusion, Established Relationship, F/M, Flower Crowns, for sothis' sake give yuri an earring before i riot, gratuitous descriptions of meadows, howl pendragon!yuri I would like to see it y’all, obscure references to the book, truthfully this is just something flowery and hmc adjacent</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-09-20</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-09-20</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-06 10:14:56</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Teen And Up Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>5,847</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/26222932</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/librarybooks/pseuds/librarybooks</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p><i>Something mystic this way comes,</i> Byleth thinks.</p><p>Perhaps it's because this feels like a dream.</p><p>Or: an unending field of flowers, and the crowns they make of them.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Yuris Leclair | Yuri Leclerc/My Unit | Byleth</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>8</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>32</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>Always, and Always</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>i'm once again asking more people to please read howl's moving castle it's my favorite book ever and um uh um yurileth grabbed me by the throat so have this. [marge simpson voice] I just think they’re neat</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>She never tires of the flowers.</p><p>They grow just off the water, in clusters of pink and blue. The garden is widespread and bright; each group is thick with nectar-thirsty honey bees, bumbling amongst themselves with careless abandon. The stalks are slick with the morning dew. They wave back and forth in the breeze, a greeting.</p><p>Byleth turns to the clouds. Long, puffy stretches of brilliant white, they hang low on the horizon. They’re shaped like anything; like mansions, or monsters of old. If she stands on the tips of her toes, perhaps she could grasp them, if only to see how they feel.</p><p>Are they downy? Would they have the texture of baby’s breath, or the colorless marigolds scattered by her feet?</p><p>It’s not been long since she was last here, but the flow of time is inconsistent; the field is unchanging. A day or an age could pass, blurring together in a nonsensical puddle of memory. It’s easy to get lost with vast land and silence, like this is a sheltered dome of faux peace. It’s distant enough from other villages to not hear bustle or see smoke.</p><p>The blossoms are unpicked, soaring into the air with a confidence unknown to lesser meadows. Not even the dandelions last long there, unsafe from the grabbing hands of children. Byleth plucks one, pinching it between her index and thumb. Its yellow vibrancy reflects on her skin, and she tucks it behind her ear.</p><p>Yuri came with her before, to the very same endless pasture. He’d been cold, with a gaze like flat stone. The stars were falling, she recalls; the open faces of the flowers peeked upwards in the murky night, watching them plummet in sparks of gold and blue. She saw Yuri offer his heart to one. </p><p>Later, he gave the very same to her, his curse evaporating in the early sun. A twinkle grew behind his eyes, flushed and full of love. It gratifies her to think of how far they’ve come.</p><p>Byleth takes a step. Her weight sinks into the soft soil, lodging her soles in the dirt. A clump of yarrow tilts with it; it bends to tickle her ankles, a mimicry of insects in the creeper. She pauses in her stride, batting aside the weeds with the back of her hand. A sigh slips from her unbidden. It’s a wistful, fleeting thing, nothing more than a whisper of nostalgia on her lips.</p><p>A cursory glance over Byleth’s shoulder reveals swaths of emptiness. Even the castle has shifted from view, migrating on skinny legs to blend in with the terrain. There’s nothing to find but herself and the blooms, basking in the light. It’s serene.</p><p>Perhaps a little lonely, too.</p><p>With no wandering eyes in the fields, she gathers her skirt in her fists. It’s hastily drawn up to her waist as Byleth settles on her knees, careful to avoid disturbing the flora. The dress balloons around her like she’s some sort of strange mushroom. <em> That’s better.  </em></p><p>The damp grass is cool beneath her stockings. It pricks the fine fabric, prodding her calves with sharp, incessant pokes. The bushes, thigh-high at best, are almost level with her chin; she inhales the crisp scent of mint. Its tang is sharp enough to burn her nose.</p><p><em> They’re lovely, </em>Byleth thinks. All of them are, but the lilies and foxgloves especially; they quiver without wind, their heads like bells and reaching stems like fingers. It’s ethereal, as if she treads on the body of some great creature and can only pinpoint little pieces of it.</p><p>“Hm,” she casts out an arm. The blooms ghost across her fingertips, little more than a flutter. If she laid in them, Byleth wonders if they’d rustle, murmuring their petal secrets.</p><p>She wonders if they’d speak.</p><p>Another gentle yawn rolls through the meadow. It parts the shrubbery evenly, weaving through it in a wispy verdant tide. Her eyelids drift closed, coaxed by the calm. <em> Breathe in. </em></p><p>She senses everything, but distantly and without fear — it’s futile to worry in a place like this. Even by herself, the warmth embraces her wholly. Crickets chirp deep in the leaves, as if to remind her she’s not entirely alone.</p><p>There exist few areas of unbroached tranquility. Byleth is certain nothing is so untouched by time; she could ruminate for centuries and still create the same short list of beautiful spaces. Lesser known ones, too — not a sprawling palace, or a hat shop, or even a church.</p><p><em> Home is such a place, </em>Byleth thinks, and dutifully ignores her intrusive personal bias. A memory leaps to mind then, an image of its spires, looming tall before her. It was foreboding and yet strangely composed, as much as a moving building could be. She’d even thought it ugly at first.</p><p>But fate and quests and witches have a funny way of turning things on their head. Although the castle is all blundering brick, it’s become comfortable. It’s safe, with its very walls imbued with magic; surging legs of its own, and a door that opens anywhere. </p><p>Yes, home is somewhere special. There’s a charm to it, even when it hitches in its movements and she spills her tea. Byleth can forgive a fallen cup or two. It’s a repose for her, and she believes that to be enough.</p><p>Then there’s the valley, where years could pass unnoticed. Its fathomless rivers and gemstone blossoms — <em>well</em>. Byleth breathes in the perfumes wafting around her. <em>Of course,</em> <em>the fields are a given.</em></p><p>And if she looks to the center of her heart, to the fundamental truth she carries in her soul, there’s another: a solid point in the universe, one of unmarred trust and confidence. One that lasts, not like crumbling marble, but as a mortal speck amongst the others. <em> Him. </em></p><p>His presence is the difference; the location and time are irrelevant. <em> Everything </em>is, save for him. Not because he’s particularly dangerous, or frightening in the least. Byleth can hold her own, but it’s within the cavity of their dual beating hearts that she finds peace. </p><p>She supposes that’s a bit contrary to physical places, but it’s beautiful nonetheless. </p><p>
  <em> Breathe out. </em>
</p><p>Her lashes brush her brow bone. The edges of the sun are teased with tendrils of grey, bare hints of a far-off storm; it stripes the otherwise unbroken pane of blue. Even the mountains, white-capped and ridged, look soft from where she rests; not so much teeth from the maw of a great beast, but an uneven seam between the ground and the sky.</p><p><em> Something mystic this way comes</em>, Byleth thinks. It’s a fantastic sort of thing; she isn’t much inclined to whimsy, but it comes to her anyway, springing to the forefront as if it was meant to.</p><p>Perhaps it’s because this feels like a dream.</p><p>“Here again, are we?”</p><p>The voice slices evenly through the quiet, a well-honed blade. It’s less a question than a statement, catching her off guard. The speaker is playful, a little haughty, belied by his gentle words.</p><p><em> Ah. </em>Byleth lifts her chin in recognition. She tears her attention away from the distant peaks, just for a moment. A flicker and he’s there, emerging like something of a mirage in the mist. His loose shirt billows around him in a nebulous cloud, tugging his collar and threads. His hair joins the fray, twisting about in pale, glossy lavender. It shimmers in the early glow.</p><p>
  <em> Him. </em>
</p><p>“Yuri,” Byleth greets him with a subtle tilt of her head. There’s a grin on his face; it’s pearlescent to match the earrings dangling from his ears, each a heavy droplet of emerald.</p><p><em> Just like your eyes, sweetheart, </em>he’d said, long ago.</p><p>She thinks of it now, and wonders if it’s true. How closely do they match?</p><p>“Hi, darling,” Yuri’s sleeves swell about his wrists as he leans toward her. The motion dislodges his bangs, and they swing over his brow. “You’re well?”</p><p>“Mhm, I am,” Byleth turns away with an upward curve of her mouth. Yuri is handsome — that much is true. He’s effortlessly fair, to an extent that amuses her. For all his vanity, he doesn’t need to try. “As you know.”</p><p>“Do I?” He treads forward, blinking at her. His sugar-dusted lashes flutter, sparkling like precious stones. It’s quite distracting, that comeliness. Yuri’s always been well aware of it.</p><p>“I saw you but an hour ago,” she smiles. It’s small, nothing more than a slight dimple, but it brightens her countenance. The dandelion behind her ear droops, dangling precariously from its perch.</p><p>Yuri rights it with a swipe of his index. “A mood can shift in an instant,” his fingers linger by her cheek, and he pinches a lock of her hair between them. It quivers over the sharp angle of her bone until he lets it fall. “You left, and then I found you here, crouching in a rhododendron.”</p><p>Well. She <em> had </em>gone off on her own, but not to be alone. A chance peek out the window told her they were nearing the meadows, and Byleth has a penchant for both fishing and gardening, in that order. Yuri knows as much, although he’s never one to muddy himself with either.</p><p>“You make it sound suspicious,” she remarks, soft. “Must I have a reason?”</p><p>It’s not teasing but honest, a casual admission of boredom. Yuri looks at her, lips pursed. His gaze is inquisitive beneath his fringe. </p><p>“I suppose not.” His hand retracts fully, and Byleth misses the proximity. “Wouldn’t you worry if it were reversed?”</p><p><em> Would I? </em> She wonders, and turns to the gently swaying plants. <em> Not really</em>. The only cause for concern would be willingly running out into the dirt, which he would do under duress.</p><p>Yuri hasn’t the flair for theatrics as he once did, back when they first met. He’s flirty and funny with about a dozen secrets lurking beneath the surface. Far beneath, rivaling the deepest wells. Their first date hadn’t even been a date, really; he’d been so absorbed in his own schemes.</p><p>Byleth thinks she’s still unraveling them, sometimes — the mysteries he keeps even from the flowers. She pulls him apart piece by piece, like an onion.</p><p>“Maybe,” she says, slow. “If I had reason to believe something had happened.”</p><p>Yuri hums in agreement. The weeds crunch underfoot, folding to crumple beneath him. He brushes aside the tall grass to sit beside her. “You do know me, dear.”</p><p>The blatant affection in his voice spreads pleasantly through her chest. It flushes behind her ribs, racing up her collar to flood her skin. “I do,” she says, fiddling with the hem of her skirt. “And you me.”</p><p>“Mhm,” he glances upward, pushing towards the sky. The light illuminates his face, casting him in gilded warmth. Byleth watches the path his eyes track along the horizon, tracing the uneven ridges of the mountains. </p><p>“You like it here?” He says, after a moment.</p><p>It’s phrased like an inquiry, his tone lilting higher on the last word, although Byleth is sure he already knows the answer. It’s one he’s asked before, when things were different; when they were less certain of themselves.</p><p>He may not be thinking of blossoms at all.</p><p>She humors him. A gentle nudge of her shoulder against his, and her fingers dip into the foliage, plunging like roots to the earth. The soil is loose and loamy as it meets her nails. “You know I do.”</p><p>Yuri grins. He makes a quiet sound at the back of his throat, not troubled but thoughtful. “Good,” he intones. “It’s all for you.”</p><p>Byleth presses into him further, grazing his arm with her knuckle. “It couldn’t be,” she sighs. The meadow seems to have hushed around them, melting into calm. Even the insects oblige, their creaking shuttered and distant. “It’s too much for one.”</p><p>“Alright,” Yuri accepts easily. “Then it’s mine, too.”</p><p>He leans back on his palms, looking every bit like he was grown there. It wouldn’t surprise Byleth, with his gossamer beauty and unyielding desire to burst forth from below. She’s never seen such variety in flora as there is here, so he very well could be a flower. She thinks it might be true.</p><p>“Thank you,” she says, and means it. “It’s better shared.”</p><p>This place would mean nothing if it weren’t for him. She wouldn’t even know it otherwise.</p><p>Byleth tears herself away from his profile, moving to her hand in the ground. She sifts between the leaves, settling on the stalk of a daisy. Its petals brush her wrist in a velvety caress. </p><p>“If you think so,” Yuri agrees, so readily and amiable that she could laugh. He levels her with an expression that’s more impish than anything. “You wouldn’t spray weed killer on these, then?”</p><p>Byleth plucks the posies by her feet and smiles again. It’s brighter than before, flashing broad and white. Those come easier, now — without war looming, without the constant fear of loss. “I wouldn’t.”</p><p>“But you’ll dig them up, hm?” He reaches for her clutch of eviscerated blooms, picking out a bud with a flimsy stem. It snaps in his grip, and Byleth releases a small chuckle. She opens her fist so they stray over the curves, free and whole. “How very reassuring.”</p><p>“That’s different,” she contends, her tone level and pleasant. She rolls the tiny flowers in her cupped hands. Ever a piece of work — he heckles her for entertainment, but only because he knows she’ll reciprocate. </p><p>“Oh?” Yuri asks. He weaves the tenuous stalk around his thumb until it’s shrouded in green. He looks even more like a garden creature like this, leaves dripping from his visage in heart-shaped plumes. He lifts his gaze to catch hers. “Enlighten me, my dear Fell Star.”</p><p>Byleth shoots him a disapproving look. “You lack creativity.” The posies tremble, slipping out of her grip and into the grass. “Their impermanence enhances their beauty.”</p><p>“Creativity?” A chuckle bursts forth from his chest, clear and vibrant as a bell. It’s always a lovely sound, so elusive and vibrant; its sincerity a rarity greater than any treasure. Yuri brushes his fringe away from his brow. “The one thing I’d pride myself on, love.”</p><p><em> Always with the nicknames. </em> It’s endearing until it’s not. She could roll her eyes at him. <em> Honestly</em>.</p><p>“Hm,” Byleth gathers the fallen blossoms in her skirt. She turns to tear more out of the ground, ripping them just above the root. They join her wad in bits and pieces, a gradient of lavender in petal shapes. “Watch.”</p><p> </p><p>❀</p><p> </p><p>It’s not quite impressive now, but as Byleth fashions the wildflowers into strands, she can see the shape take form. A slow curve into a simple circle, knotted with curling vines. The crown will be just wide enough to brace over Yuri’s stately brow.</p><p>He’s less inclined to grasp her vision. </p><p>Yuri stares at the messy pile of twigs, nonplussed. Catmint and chicory trail down the rumpled fabric of Byleth’s dress, rooting her into the earth. “You chose — ”</p><p>“Purple,” Byleth hums, noncommittal. Her slim fingers whirl nimbly amongst the stems, encouraging them to bend rather than break. “It’ll look nice.”</p><p>“<em>Nice</em>,” He says, turning the term over on his tongue. The stalks in his grasp flutter downward, forgotten. They alight upon the dirt like a bird to its roost. “<em>Nice? </em>”</p><p>Byleth’s attention doesn’t stray from her task. “That’s what I said.”</p><p>“It will <em> clash,</em>” Yuri argues. He gestures towards the vast expanse of untouched flora they have at their disposal. His mouth pulls into a pout; a dour, wretched thing. “Why not something else? Yellow?”</p><p>The sun paints itself over her cheekbones, blinding her in the growing brightness. Byleth wrinkles her nose, and it casts her lashes in shadow. “I wouldn’t expect you to choose yellow.”</p><p>“It’s complementary, you know.”</p><p>Byleth raises another noticeably purple flower. She knits it into her creation with deft movements, and it fits snugly between the catmint and wisteria. “I didn’t.”</p><p>“So wonderfully candid,” Yuri sighs. He tilts his chin up, half-warmed by the open sky. “You wound me, sweetheart.”</p><p>She graces his knee with a gentle pat. “It’s unintentional.”</p><p>“Mhm,” he says. His head flops to the side, tossing his squinted gaze over her shoulder. It’s a lazy sort of study, the disinterested way he roves over the meandering pasture.</p><p>For a long moment, the buzzing of bees is all that stretches between them. They hover in the canopy of drooping grass, bumbling their way with clumsy charm. It’s a peaceful sound, one reminiscent of high heat and late-falling dusk.</p><p>“What about,” Yuri flicks the wavering stalk of a cornflower, “something blue?”</p><p>Byleth clucks her tongue. “Demanding,” she admonishes. As she speaks, she clips a single buttercup at its root and tucks it into the rapidly blooming crown of violet. It will have to be enough to appease him. “Perhaps I’ll just wear it myself.”</p><p>“And you’d undoubtedly look lovely,” Yuri grunts, inelegant, as he shifts his position. He sorts through his own heap; a pink and red bouquet of poppies, altogether lacking in diversity. Byleth suspects she’ll look something like a Yuletide decoration once he graces her with it. “But that’s not the point I meant to make.”</p><p>“Pray tell what that means, then,” she says. </p><p>Yuri passes her a glance. Byleth is only semi-conscious of her words — she’s nearing the end of her makeshift diadem. The leaves have begun to thicken, obstructing her braiding. She frowns at it, as if the issue will resolve itself through intimidation alone.</p><p>“It<em> means,</em>” he swats absently at an insect on his thigh. “I’ll stick out like a blasted noble.”</p><p>
  <em> Is that what this personal vendetta is about? </em>
</p><p>Byleth makes a contemplative noise. “Because of the <em> purple</em>?”</p><p>“Come now,” Yuri says. He means no ill, she knows; if anything, he’s pushing her for the sake of it. “You know. It’s the royal color.”</p><p>“Is it,” she remarks, dry. </p><p>“It is. And tragic, too,” Yuri coughs delicately into his cupped palm. “Thousands of colors, and I’m drenched in lavender.”</p><p><em> If he has a problem with it, </em> Byleth thinks to herself, <em> he should’ve dyed his hair another shade. </em></p><p>“Isn’t it enough that it suits you?” She sighs. The vexations of men will never fail to confound her, even if it’s Yuri. <em> Ever surrounded by their odd vices. </em>Purple and royalty — what of it? </p><p>When she says as much, Yuri offers a graceful side eye. Amusement twists the thin line of his mouth. “You mean to soften me, darling?”</p><p><em> Do I? </em>No. Byleth just wants to finish this craft and drop it on top of him. Perhaps she’ll kiss his brow, even, but later; when he’s not enthralled with the politics of the king’s favorite color. </p><p>“That depends,” Byleth picks a daisy, knitting it with the others. The stems are thick and full, enough to stay without her carefully interlaced fingers. “Is it working?”</p><p>His answering smile flashes, a vibrant white sliver like the waxing moon.</p><p>“If you compliment me like that, I can’t help but love it.” </p><p>Byleth cocks her head. The corners of her lips twitch, nothing more than a flicker of humor.<em> I know. </em></p><p> </p><p>❀ ❀</p><p> </p><p>“Aren’t you part of the court?”</p><p>She inquires later, under the warmth of the afternoon sun. Her fingers ache from long shifts of twirling vines in tandem. The flowery braid she’s woven is more akin to a real circlet now, blooming with its noble vibrancy.</p><p>Yuri takes a moment to muse over her question. He remains downcast, tracing the remaining poppies he has in his inventory. To his credit, his handicraft is staggering — but then, he is a wizard. It comes with the territory, she supposes.</p><p><em> The Royal Wizard, </em> she thinks. <em> Hm. </em></p><p>Byleth has asked him about it before, although perhaps not in such plain terms. He’s always cautiously evasive, eluding an explanation for his lone wolf behavior outside of basic mistrust. Yuri’s made it no secret that he’d prefer to remain unaffiliated with greater entities. </p><p>“<em>I’d do well to avoid it,</em>” he’d said, and left it at that. He employs his own agenda, untouched by beings like elder witches and, well, <em> the king</em>.</p><p>Byleth is no expert on the intricacies of titles; all of the regal jargon makes her brain go soft, like there’s somebody else trying to take the reins. Royal Wizards and missing princes and the aristocratic color purple — silly matters like that have no place lodging themselves in the back of her mind.</p><p>She shakes her head as if to clear it.</p><p>There are a few things of which she’s absolutely certain; one is that Yuri is a powerful man who’s acquainted with influential people. The other is that Byleth herself is rather unqualified to grapple with such affairs. She’d only gone out to seek her fortune, really, and somehow ended up here. </p><p>Not that it’s a bad thing by any means.</p><p>“Hm,” Yuri says, interrupting her tumultuous tide of thought. “Not quite.”</p><p>The answer to her question takes several seconds to process. </p><p>“No?” Byleth asks, setting her crown in her lap. She’d best leave it alone, before her fingers fall off. They seem to be turning green. “What of the Royal Wizard?”</p><p>His expression sours, curving delicately downward. “For that, I do qualify.”</p><p>
  <em> What is that supposed to mean? </em>
</p><p>“And the king?” Byleth’s hands knit patiently over her waist. “What does he say?”</p><p>“He’s a fool,” Yuri supplies, picking a shred of grass off his leg. The effort is fruitless; they’re just about buried themselves, integrated with the foliage like strange, tall plants. </p><p>“I don’t understand,” Byleth says, placid. A wavy curl drifts into her face, lodging itself in her lashes. She blinks it away. “I thought you were on decent terms.”</p><p>“Eh,” Yuri huffs a breath. He looks to her at last, catching her gaze with all of his prideful beauty. “I’m not fond of being ordered to do other people’s bidding.”</p><p>Byleth knows this. She’s been long familiar with his thought process, although she doesn’t always follow it; Yuri is a crude-speaking man, far removed from external control. He operates on his own schedule and under the guise of his own schemes, with little regard for outside contingencies. Hired against his will doesn’t bode well for the king. Every inch of his bewitching exterior reads: <em> risk. </em></p><p>He’s also strong, charming, and kind-hearted. He cares for those he stands for, although he won’t admit it.</p><p>
  <em> Stubborn. </em>
</p><p>“What of Sothis?” Byleth asks, hesitant. She mentions it because she thinks she must, but she suspects the answer already. Of beasts and spirits and all sorts of magical things, Sothis had been unique. “She ordered you about quite a bit.”</p><p>Yuri exhales. It’s a prolonged breath, dredging all of the air from his lungs. “Sothis,” he flaps his hand. It’s less flippant than it is dismissive. “She’s a different case.”</p><p><em> A different case indeed, </em> Byleth thinks<em>. </em>The creature that once resided behind his ribs, sealing away his heart; he acts as though it’s a matter of little consequence, but his indifference is utterly forced. She can read him like no other, as if he’d left a guidebook to his mannerisms on the parlor table.</p><p>“Ah,” a fond smile teases the corner of Byleth’s mouth. Yuri’s predictable, even when he pretends not to be. “I see.”</p><p>He huffs in reply. A soft mutter slips past his lips, something about <em> an exception to the rule. </em> </p><p>Sothis <em> had </em>been something special, Byleth knows. She’d introduced herself as a god, and he’d loved her still; their bond grew far beyond that of a wizard and familiar, springing from a foolish bargain made on a star-flecked night.</p><p>Even Byleth misses Sothis, often enough that it aches. When she watches the heat curl on the stove in a blue-green flame, when she feels the clattering bricks in the castle’s smokestack, she thinks of her.</p><p>“<em>I’ll miss you</em>,” Sothis had said. She flickered as she spoke, freed from her grate at last. Her flames snapped with feverish excitement, and her laughter echoed off the cool stone walls, louder than ever before. “<em>I won’t be long. </em>”</p><p>She promised she’d return, and Byleth chooses to believe it. Yuri does too, although he maintains the same stoic mask of apathy. He waits for her with endless patience. He keeps a watchful eye out for whisperings of mighty wandering spirits, and leaves dry wood in the empty hearth.</p><p>The castle feels rather empty without her.</p><p>“It’s strange,” Byleth says, then. She executes her best attempt at nonchalance, tending instead to the flowers gathered on her dress. “Don’t you miss her?”</p><p>Yuri’s gaze rises to meet hers. He appears thoughtful, although something else glints in the depths; a quiet melancholy, maybe. The sort that emerges from losing a friend.</p><p>“She’s free to come back whenever she pleases.”</p><p>“Mhm,” Byleth agrees, soft. He claims to be unmoved, but she still suffers to see him ache. They both miss their family, even as Sothis explores her newfound freedom. </p><p>It’s never easy to let go.</p><p>Yuri twiddles with the long stem of a peony. “It’s alright.”</p><p>Byleth’s fingers still in her lap. Her floral diadem is nearly finished; she only needs to tie off the last of the stalks, tucking them beneath the blooms. “You take care of your own.”</p><p>Yuri pauses at this. A moment of unbroached quiet overtakes them; it ripples through the grass, carrying the petals the fell victim to their meddling. They twist in the air like tiny spirits, floating off into the void.</p><p>“I do,” he agrees.</p><p>His words tap against the silence like a tiny silver mallet. It shatters without preamble and the air rushes back, filling their ears with the tittering sounds of summer.</p><p>Yuri’s hand moves, slow, as he abandons his poppy crown over his knee. He reaches out for her, brushing the curve of her wrist. It’s a butterfly’s touch — a barely there sigh of warmth, before it’s gone. “I suppose that encompasses the whole of the kingdom, now.”</p><p><em> The Royal Wizard, </em> her brain supplies. She doesn’t say the words; she’s certain he knows the stakes of his work. <em> A responsibility like no other. </em></p><p>Byleth leans forward, her arm splayed outward like an offering. He takes it, grasping her with all of the delicacy reserved for a porcelain doll. His thumb rubs a gentle circle over her skin, just above her vein.</p><p>“I’m by your side,” Byleth murmurs instead. It’s muted, her words somehow dull in the shadow of the blossoms.</p><p>The fullness of her devotion twinges behind her breast, strong and true. Byleth loves him. She has for an age or an eternity — the time matters not. It’s as immortal as the star that once beat in his chest, and in turn, hers. </p><p>Yuri looks at her, his mouth curling into a half-moon. A tiny dimple nestles itself in his cheek. “I know, sweetheart.”</p><p> </p><p>❀ ❀ ❀</p><p> </p><p>Loose wildflowers are a scrambled mess in her skirt, piled so thickly it’s impossible to tell where her hem ends and the garden begins. It’s an exquisite sort of chaos, colorful and lively, like a parade.</p><p>The finished products are polished, draped primly over their bent knees.</p><p>Byleth leans forward, clasping either side of her crown above him. It’s a leafy, aristocratic thing, all tidbits of green and hanging blossoms. As Yuri tilts his head to accept them, he carries the aura of a king; it comes forth in the noble acceptance of his helm, his earrings dangling with the movement. They flash a brilliant emerald as they swing back and forth.</p><p>The flowers sink over his brow, settling evenly upon him. They don’t <em> clash</em>, as he insisted they would; they’re a myriad of purples, interspersed with soft yellows and whites. A daisy falls lopsided by his temple, its skewed petals half-concealed by his hair. They braid themselves into his locks, sticking out like oval snowflakes.</p><p>“Oh,” Byleth withdraws, studying him. A faint rosiness covers the bridge of her nose — Yuri can’t tell if it’s sunburn or a tentative blush.</p><p>Which it is doesn’t matter, he supposes. The desire to toy with her is too great.</p><p>“So?” Yuri asks, teeth flashing behind his cupped palm. He studies her for a reaction, but her mindless stoicism doesn’t waver. “How do I look?” </p><p>Byleth glances to the side. She remains flushed, although she offers him a tiny smirk. “Very handsome in purple.”</p><p>She says it like she’s dealt a finishing blow against his ego. <em> Foolish. </em>She sustains it, if anything.</p><p>“Well,” Yuri says, mulish. He absently pinches the bent stem of the catmint. “It’s to be expected. I look good in everything.”</p><p>“And modest too,” Byleth chuckles, subdued. She doesn’t disagree with him.</p><p>He deposits her own laurels with little fanfare. They flop over her hairline, lopsided. The flowers trickle downward like ivy waterfalls, striving to tickle her collarbone.</p><p>She blows a coiled vine out of her face.</p><p>It’s a pretty circlet, made well with Yuri’s adept hands. Pale brown roots still hang from a few of the stems, and some have wilted. There’s an ant nestling somewhere in her waves, probably, but it can’t be helped. Her scalp prickles, tingling under the woven wreath.</p><p>“Expert handiwork, if I do say so myself,” Yuri prides himself, folding his arms over his torso. His gaze is luminous beneath his fringe, enhanced by the blooms.</p><p>He’s a ravishing, cunning wolf.</p><p>“Mhm,” Byleth releases a sigh. She pushes a drooping bud off her brow. “You would say that.”</p><p>Yuri’s laugh is a wind chime in the still heat. He reaches for her almost subconsciously; his fingers splay over her wrist, a searing contact that has her shifting closer. Their only company is the bees.</p><p>The day grows longer.</p><p>Byleth’s hair glimmers in the afternoon sun, its glow like the trail of a comet. Yuri’s red poppies are sharp in contrast to it, dangling like little ornaments of crimson. He adjusts the position of her crown; the leaves entwine themselves with her flyaways so it appears to have grown from her skull.</p><p>She feels a bit like a walking flower, sprouting up from the soil.</p><p>Byleth glances at him, her chin tilted upward so the light catches her irises. Under Yuri’s stare, she twinkles like something ethereal. An entity of magic.</p><p>He’s asked her before if there’s an answer buried within her. There’s a tale to them all, he’d said; every single person carries one, far beneath their outward exteriors.</p><p>“<em>You’re divine</em>,” he told her once, as if she’s seen many an age and turned it in her favor. As if she’s a god. “<em>And a bit of a mystery. </em>”</p><p>Byleth doesn’t understand what he sees, but she couldn’t possibly view it herself. It’s the way she frowns at him when he makes offhand comments; it’s in her elusive, brilliant smirk.</p><p>She thinks he’s teasing, but he is so very in love.</p><p>“Byleth,” Yuri says, strained. His voice drops to a dulcet tone, hardly more than a murmur.</p><p>She hums in response, her lashes fluttering in the brightness. The space between them is rife with spiking emotion, spoken and not.</p><p><em> Byleth</em>. She reads her name on his lips, as clear as if it were tattooed.</p><p>“Do you know what you look like, darling?”</p><p>Yuri brushes his thumb over her cheek. The dandelion he’d left behind her ear kisses the pad gently, its withering petals curling in on themselves. Lovely things don’t last very long, but for him — </p><p>Byleth nestles into his touch. Her star-bright eyes smile as he does, crinkling at the corners.</p><p>“What?” She asks, her breath tugged from her lungs.</p><p>No, beauty isn’t eternal; but his crown, however impermanent, is hers. It will endure.</p><p>He cups the shell of her face. “You look like tomorrow.”</p><p>It’s quiet as he speaks, the meadow hushed to absorb his words. They spill forth with utter sincerity, each one a promise.</p><p>“I think we ought to live happily ever after,” Yuri suggests, then. He’s more serious than she’s ever seen him, as if afraid she’d say <em> no. </em></p><p>Byleth watches him for a moment. An eon passes within it, spanning out far into the beyond. His circlet of blossoms rustles against his brow. The petals are heart-shaped, their touch like velvet.</p><p>She blinks at him. “Aren’t we already?”</p><p>Yuri responds with a brilliant grin, his palm tender against her jaw. He extends his free hand, open and waiting. Thin imprints of the foliage mark him with soft pink lines.</p><p>The tips of her nails glance over his skin, and Byleth meets him halfway. The link sends a tiny spark shooting between them; her fingers press into him, anchoring. They’re dyed green from the broken stems by her feet.</p><p>They rise from the ground with purposeful slowness, their clothes snagged on the surrounding plants. All around them, the bushes spill with white perennials, dripping downward and over the dirt floor as if doused with a pitcher of milk.</p><p>The castle dawdles in the heathland. It shudders, stumbling along the horizon in a ramshackle pile of bricks. Its long, spindly legs trudge towards them, each step shaking the earth. The grasses quiver, swaying back and forth in invitation. It calls for them to dance.</p><p>Yuri draws her close to his beating heart.</p><p>“Let’s go home.”</p><p> </p><p>✧</p><p> </p><p>In the heavens, a viridescent star gleams. She rests in a pocket of space, where cerulean meets cobalt and blends at the seam. The sun can’t reach her here, nor the moon; it’s tranquil, but barren. Hollow.</p><p>She yawns, stretching her crackling flames. The deep blue around her brightens to accommodate it, turning lighter even as the day fades.</p><p>
  <em> Awake. </em>
</p><p>The star glimmers, shining brighter as she comes to alertness. In her subdued corner of existence, the world is a far-off plane; it sprawls beneath her, a confusing plethora of shapes that mean very little. She regards the meandering country with a vague curiosity.</p><p>It roves fruitlessly until she stumbles upon a field of flowers.</p><p>The colors give her pause; it’s a flourishing, widespread meadow, interspersed with sapphire strands of gurgling brooks. There’s a castle, too, blundering and stockish on the moors. Its chimney spews nothing, its hearth abandoned.</p><p>She sparkles at the sight. Her fire bursts forth in a great explosion, growing stronger and more vibrant with each passing moment. </p><p>
  <em> Home. </em>
</p><p>She doesn’t spare another thought. With a joyful cry, she spreads her flickering arms and leaps.</p><p>For the second time, Sothis falls out of the sky. </p><p>It’s nothing like the first. That had been a terrifying sensation, tumbling and violent, her core overflowing with dread. No, this is painless and exhilarating; a descent without fear, because there’s no reason to be afraid. She won’t meet the ground but rise above it, her wings free and brilliant. She can fly.</p><p>Wind whips over her face in a wild caress. The other stars fade behind her, shrinking to pinpricks of twinkling white. Below, the castle staggers. It ambles through dense grasses and blossoms of pink and blue, vibrating with every step.</p><p>The rushing air leaves embers in her wake as Sothis follows.</p><p> </p><p>❀ ❀ ✧ ❀ ❀</p><p> </p><p></p><blockquote>
  <p>
    <em>I must have flowers, always, and always.</em>
  </p>
</blockquote><p>— Claude Monet</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>this au seized me in the middle of teatime with yuri and I figured. why not. it's my goddess-driven duty to provide more yurileth content because we are starving</p><p><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/users/ineia">ineia</a> <a href="https://archiveofourown.org/users/dragonair">june</a> and <a href="https://archiveofourown.org/users/kirishimom">ashe</a> - thank you!! my trusty betas and dear friends! &lt;3 you have ineia to thank for the title, as well as the lovely addition of growing flower crown dividers, which I thought was just about the cutest thing I ever did see</p></blockquote></div></div>
</body>
</html>